To Freely Choose
by StarSpray
Summary: (Better to Have Loved) Eärendil and Elwing are summoned back to the Valar, and are given a choice.


When Eärendil finally came to Alqualondë after seeing the Valar, he slept for a week. Elwing spent most of that week keeping an eye on him, making sure he woke to bathe and eat and do other necessary things.

But mostly, she let him sleep. His audience with the Valar had been exhausting in its own right, and it had come on the heels of a years-long, arduous voyage. Elwing thought the least the Valar could have done was offer him a meal, but apparently they hadn't, since Eärendil had mentioned leaving Valmar immediately afterward to come find her.

For her part, Elwing slept little. And when she did sleep, she dreamed—of Sirion or of Doriath, or of both of them together. Before Eärendil came she had brought Ëassalmë or Lalindil into her room more than once, when she woke screaming.

It was the morning after one of her worst nights that Olwë and Lalindil had coaxed the story out of her—of the Kinslayings in Doriath and Sirion. She had spoken also of Gondolin's fall at the hands of Morgoth, though the story she told was the one Eärendil had told her, and his memories were hazy and a little confused, as he had only been seven years old at the time.

That had left her aunt and uncle confused, when she told them how recently these events had taken place. And that had prompted a retelling of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, and an explanation of the marriage of Idril to Tuor, to explain that she and Eärendil both were halfelven, and had grown to adulthood with the swiftness of Men.

"That is why Eärendil is fit to plead for both Elves _and_ Men before the Valar," Elwing had told them.

They had all kinds of questions after that. About Men, about the other halfelven (none of whom had survived as long as Elwing)... The Elves of Valinor knew next to nothing of the Secondborn, and Elwing found that they were astonished and a little horrified at the thought of dying forever. Especially when she said the fate of Men's spirits was not known.

And suddenly the comfort Lalindil had offered, that Elrond and Elros would return someday from Mandos, seemed to ring false and empty—because it was impossible to know if that were truly the case.

Elwing lay awake beside Eärendil and stared at the ceiling. It had been inlaid with gems and deep blue tiles—the image of the night sky. The diamonds gleamed faintly in the light of the moon reflected off the sea. Elwing suspected the effect had been greater with Telperion's reflected light as it poured over the Calacirya.

She wondered if spirits waiting in Mandos could see the stars. Or if there were any stars Beyond, in the place where Men's spirits went. It was probably a foolish idea: Elbereth had made the stars, after entering the world…

Elwing sighed and rolled over. Eärendil stirred and mumbled something unintelligible. His arm wrapped around her waist. He was warm and solid and finally _there_, and she did her best to stop thinking and to sleep.

It must have worked, because Elwing woke sometime later, as dawn was starting to turn the eastern horizon grey. She sat up, and shook Eärendil. "Eärendil. Wake up."

He mumbled something unintelligible before opening one eye. "Unngh?"

"Get up, let's go for a walk. The fresh air will do you good."

He sat up, yawning so widely Elwing almost thought his jaw would unhinge. "All right."

They dressed and slipped through the still-quiet palace and the still-quiet streets of Alqualondë, to the gem-strewn shore, where Eärendil pulled Elwing into the ankle-deep waves. "It's beautiful," he said after they had walked some distance. "Strange, with all gems in the sand, but beautiful."

"Mm." He was right. The sun flamed in the eastern sky, turning clouds in the distance orange and gold. The air was fresh and clean, cool with the morning, smelling of summer and sea salt.

"I only met Olwë briefly, when I arrived. He seemed…" Eärendil frowned. "I suppose I expected him to be rather like Celeborn, but he smiles more easily."

"Celeborn used to be like that," Elwing said, though she herself had no memories of a carefree Celeborn. "He's graver now, since Doriath and Sirion." Or at least she hoped he was. She would rather him be grave and alive than the alternative. Galadriel, too. And Lindir, and Oropher, and… She stopped herself. That line of thought would lead nowhere good.

"You know we probably won't be allowed to go back," Eärendil said softly after a moment.

"There isn't really anything to go back to," she replied.

"Well—your people. _Our_ people. Whatever remains of them."

"I'm sure Círdan and Gil-galad will have moved everyone to Balar…" Elwing halted, frowning. Foam swirled around their feet. "Who is that?"

"I don't know." Eärendil watched the figure approaching them. "You know more people in Alqualondë than I do."

"Hail, Eärendil son of Tuor, and Elwing daughter of Dior," said the stranger when she reached them. She bowed low. "I am Ainameldë; I serve the Lady Varda. I have been sent to summon you to Valmar."

"Again?" Eärendil said.

"Both of us?" Elwing asked at the same time.

Ainameldë nodded. "Yes. As soon as you may."

And then she was gone, as though blown away by the wind. Elwing stared hard at the spot where Ainameldë had been standing, but there were not even footprints in the sand. Did Maiar do that often? It was terribly disconcerting. Eärendil sighed. "That means we should leave today," he said. "Tirion isn't far, just through the pass, but Valmar is farther north."

"My uncle will lend us horses."

"Mm." Eärendil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'd rather not pass through Tirion," he said. "I was there before, but it was empty. I thought the world had ended, until Eonwë found me. It won't be empty now, though."

"You don't want to meet your family?"

"Not yet. At least not until we know what the Valar want with us."

"All right." Elwing smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. "We've never gone on a journey together."

He grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We'll be traveling over plains and through forests. That's your domain, my dear."

They made the journey in good time, on horses loaned by Olwë, who also provided them with a map, plenty of food, and fresh traveling clothes. Elwing enjoyed the trip—the first one she had taken not marked by urgency or danger, and sometimes almost forgot where they were going, and why. Eärendil, still weary (Elwing suspected he was tired in more than just body), was quiet throughout most of it, and when they encountered other travelers on the road he drew up his hood. "I was seen by a lot of people in Valmar," he said when Elwing looked at him questioningly the first time. "I'd rather not be recognized again."

"Ah."

They arrived in Valmar at twilight, when the streets were quieting. It was smaller than Elwing had expected: nothing like the sprawling cities of Tirion and Alqualondë, Valmar could not be said to be more than a town. Even Sirion had been bigger. They left their horses at a stable with a smiling stable hand. Everywhere Elwing looked, she saw heads full of golden hair of every possible shade. She drew a few stares, being as dark as they were fair, but when she met their gazes they smiled. Everyone's face was open and friendly, like in Alqualondë.

And there was not a weapon in sight. Elwing suppressed a shiver. Maybe someday she would grow used to not needing such caution…

Eärendil led the way down the path to the Ring of Doom, where the Valar sat in a circle upon their thrones. They were not as big as Elwing had expected; none of the Valar appeared much taller than an Elf. But the air rippled with power. Elwing gripped Eärendil's hand tightly. He squeezed hers reassuringly.

They stopped in the middle, facing Manwë. His ropes rippled in a breeze Elwing could not feel. Beside him Varda smiled at them. Perhaps it was meant to put them at ease, but at least for Elwing it did not work.

"Eärendil son of Tuor, and Elwing daughter of Dior," Manwë said, leaning forward slightly in his throne. "You have both passed through peril to come to the shores of Aman, on a quest long-foreseen," he looked at Eärendil, "and for the sake of your beloved," his gaze shifted to Elwing. "Yet you are neither truly Elf nor Man, and such a thing we did not foresee. Therefore it was given to me to judge, and here is my judgment: it is for you to choose, whether you will be counted among the Elves or if you will share the fate of Men."

Elwing blinked. Then she wondered if the Valar understood the choice they had so easily given to them. It was an irrevocable choice. It was…

Eärendil turned to Elwing. "You choose," he said softly. "For both of us."

She stared at him. Choose for _both_ of them? Did _Eärendil_ not understand? What if her choice was not the one he would make for himself? He may not realize it immediately, but he _would_, and what if he came to regret and resent her for it? She saw the bone-deep weariness behind his eyes, and understood he did not want to shoulder another burden—but how could he make _her_ do it?

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He nodded.

All of the Valar's eyes were on her as they waited patiently for her answer. Elwing stared at the ground, at the wildflowers around her feet, pink and yellow and fragrant. The silence hung heavily over them; somewhere in Valmar, a bell rang. High overhead, an eagle called.

She thought about her parents, and her brothers. She thought about her sons.

She thought about Lúthien, who had chosen to follow Beren. Elwing remembered her grandmother—all dark hair and grey eyes and laughter on her lips, happiest dancing at twilight when the shadows were long, and only the stars lit the sky. Her love was the stuff of songs and legends…

Elwing remembered what she had heard of Melian: her greatest grief had come with the knowledge of Lúthien's choice. Greater even than Thingol's death, because he would come back someday, while Lúthien was lost forever. Elwing thought about that, and about her own mother. Could Elwing let her mother be greeted with that same grief when she emerged from Mandos?

She had seen too much death in her life. Elwing could not choose it for herself.

She looked up. "I choose—" Her throat had gone dry. She swallowed. "I choose the fate of the Eldar."

"And so it shall be," said Manwë. He smiled at her; his eyes, the color of the sky in high summer, were kind. Elwing released the breath she'd been holding and looked down again.

The choice was made, their fate sealed. She felt no different.

Then Varda spoke: "And now, Eärendil, we have a new task for you…"


End file.
